


Poor Mariah

by Jeannie Peneaux (JeanniePeneaux)



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Regency Period, Regency Romance, light fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:19:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanniePeneaux/pseuds/Jeannie%20Peneaux
Summary: Miss Mariah Upworth-Gench is a deeply unfortunate young lady. Her life having been satisfactorily planned out from her youth, she is entirely content with her lot in life. Circumstance intervenes however, and makes it necessary for her to find herself a husband in the same manner as all the other debutantes in London.The marriage mart, it seems, is not dissimilar to a cattle market.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well here we go again.
> 
> I'm not expecting much traffic for this but I hope that those of you who do stumble across it find it fun. It isn't perfect and it may be slow going but I hope I will get to the end eventually!
> 
> Thanks for reading in advance. :)

Miss Mariah Upworth-Gench had for some months considered herself the most unfortunate of individuals. To all outward appearances she ought to be the subject of some considerable envy. The eldest, well dowered daughter of a gentleman, a name that had been well established in Devon for many a generation and not least; a perfectly adequate countenance beneath fashionably dark hair that curled thickly without any assistance necessary on the part of her maid.

To those lesser individuals who resented such good fortune, she had been often labelled as proud and aloof, she did not trouble her head with the opinions of such envious mortals however, for although she attempted to avoid the appearance of self conceit, she knew her worth well enough. 

Her dearest Papa, who was the most conscientious of fathers, had arranged for her a most advantageous match with the Viscount March, thus sealing the good will between their august families for generations to come. She had not been consulted on the engagement, nor had she expected to be. Her Papa had summoned her to his study and informed her of the bountiful blessing that was to befall her. She had rather liked, at sixteen, the thought of becoming a viscountess and thanked him very prettily for his efforts on her behalf. Sir Bartholomew Upworth-Gench had smiled indulgently and patted her on the head in a benevolent fashion. She was not to be wed straight away, it was decided. The Upworth-Gench family had concluded, after much careful thought, that they must avoid giving off any possible air of vulgar desperation in too hastily sealing such an alliance. Should society whisper that Miss Upworth-Gench had been married off too early in life, the ton may begin to think that the family's fortune had been dwindling.

During the space of the following three years she had whiled away her leisure hours by imagining how pleasant it would be to take her rightful place in society after her marriage as my lady Norwood. She fully suspected that she would be a leader of the ton in very little time at all and thus able to greatly influence others around her who would surely be in want of the sound advice from a matron of such great consequence as she. Her dearest wish in life was to be counted amongst the patronesses of Almack's and to hold the power and influence to deny or bless with vouchers wheresoever she chose. Being such a fine example of pedigree herself, she was entirely certain of her ability to maintain the necessary quality of individual within its hallowed halls.

Her dreams, hopes and wishes, came crashing down around her ringletted head within the space of a fortnight some months after her nineteenth birthday. Her affianced husband, whom she had met several times, had the bad manners to contract a particularly violent spate of measles and was dead within thirteen days of being brought to bed. It was prodigiously upsetting for Mariah and she took it very badly indeed.

It was doubly unfortunate for Miss Upworth-Gench that the death of Viscount March was announced to them when in company. Her Uncle, who was currently residing with the family at Upworth, had brought his oldest friend, Sir Robert Hardwicke to dine with them that evening. Colonel Upworth-Gench had met him during his army years before the man had inherited Auldbury Abbey. Her uncle had described him as an excellent fellow soldier and general good egg but a trifle deaf in the one ear on account of cannon fire. He was a pleasant enough dining companion for the first half of the evening. Had bowed with disinterested politeness toward her and congratulated her very properly on her upcoming nuptials in an odd, raspy voice and really had appeared to be quite unexceptionable. Unfortunately, he was privy to her earliest, shocked reaction to the news and to her great chagrin and had not at all troubled himself to conceal his amusement. 

Mariah had sat, in shocked silence as her father had gravely informed them of the sad news and then, once the import of the black bordered express had sunk in had permitted her fork to clatter against the fine porcelain of her plate and exclaimed in her clear, carrying, well bred voice, “But this is quite dreadfully inconvenient to me, I am entirely put out!’

Her Lady mother, ordinarily the most placid of individuals uttered a shocked, “Mariah!” Her dreadful Uncle snorted and his equally dreadful friend said to him sotto voice that he had not in all his years encountered such a heartless baggage as his niece.

“Which is a pity,” he drawled, in that horrid raspy voice of his, “For she will have to find a man willing to marry her in spite of it, now. A proper wife  _ ought  _ to have some measure of feminine feeling to accompany any other virtues.”

She would later blame the very natural grief she was feeling upon the shocking death of her dearly departed betrothed but Mariah, who heretofore had been the very epitome of good behaviour and delightful docility glowered at her Uncle’s friend through tear filled eyes and for the first time in her life been deliberately rude to a guest in her ancestral home.

“You are a horrid... _ mean _ spirited old man and I do not think you have any right to pass comment on the likely hood of my being a proper wife to anyone. I do not believe that in all  _ my  _ years that I have ever encountered such a vulgar, ill bred individual as yourself and what is more you are hardly the pattern card of masculinity to be passing judgement on my femininity.”

“Mariah!” said her mother again, quite shaken by the turn of events.

  
Her most dutiful daughter ignored her and rose majestically from the table before even the third course had been cleared away. She would forever after avoid veal, she thought to herself, quite irrelevantly, whilst on her way to her bed chamber, it was a  _ dreadfully  _ common dish.


	2. Chapter 2

They had forced her to apologise, of course. In a painful and unexpected deluge of parental scolding Mariah had suffered under the gentle disappointment of her mother and the equally crushing lecture from her father.

“It is not that we do not realise how greatly overset you must have been, Dearest,” cajoled Lady Upworth-Gench, “but to have expressed it in  _ such  _ a way! I do not think I have ever been more shocked in all my life.”

“I can only suppose,” said her father, icily, “that your feminine sensibilities must have overridden every single thought of propriety and decency that has been taught you since your infancy. I did not think you thought so very little of our pride, Mariah.”

Thus, feeling utterly wronged by the whole dreadful evening, and resenting the unfairness of life in general, Mariah was ushered into the drawing room to face Sir Robert Hardwicke once again. 

She hated the man even more for his (belated!) gentlemanly behaviour, for he spoke before she could utter her grudgingly rehearsed speech.

“I ought to beg your pardon, Miss Upworth-Gench.” Miss Upworth-Gench, although agreeing wholeheartedly, remained sullenly silent. “I had not thought my words would carry so far as your ears- I am deafer than I thought. I am sorry for having offered you insult in your own home, madam, particularly after you had received such...er...disquieting news.”

Sir Bartholomew cleared his throat. “That is most gracious, is it not Mariah?  My daughter sir, although this evenings doings do not support my claim, has up until now been the most delightfully mannered young lady. Her Ladyship and I are of the opinion that she was momentarily overwhelmed by her grief.”

Mariah lifted up her red rimmed eyes from the carpet and was unfortunate enough to to see the ironic gleam of amusement in the eyes of her adversary as her father gave her excuses. She dutifully reiterated the apology in a cool, colourless voice which pleased Sir Bartholomew enough to excuse her.

The cruel smirk that momentarily shaped Sir Robert’s thin lips made her long to rail at him but her pride held her mouth closed. She satisfied herself by rehearsing in her head the insults that she  _ could _ hurl at him should the occasion ever arise. There would be little chance of the boorish brute ever receiving tickets to Almack's once  _ she  _ was a patroness. This thought reminded her of the setback her dream had received and feeling a little defeated by the unfairness of life, she retreated from the room as soon as she possibly could. To her father, her countenance had returned to its usual unruffled serenity and he was content.

Sir Robert Hardwicke however, who had been privileged enough to face the young lady and had seen the venomous glare that was shot at him would equal the hatred of any French soldier he had met on the field of battle. He had thought, until her outburst, that Miss Upworth-Gench was decidedly dull, both in personality and intellect. Certainly nothing about her was of interest at all. The preening self satisfaction that had been readily apparent when he had congratulated her upon her engagement had made him feel decidedly disgusted by such evident vanity. His opinion formed, he gave her no further thought and merely enjoyed the fine dinner that he had been offered and the company of his friend the Colonel. 

If he felt guilt for the events following the arrival of the express, it was only that he had spoken louder to his friend than he had intended. He did not think his evaluation of Miss Upworth-Gench’s character was at all out. He had moved in society long enough to know that her callous self interest was not so very different from that seen in nearly every other debutante in London. Not for the first time he felt it to be distasteful that these young women were launched into society with barely an original opinion or selfless thought in their empty little heads. He would not wish for such a wife. To live with a woman in close quarters who weighed her worth according to her lineage or fortune filled him with repugnance. He had wished, however, that she had not overheard his strictures  _ regardless  _ of the amusement he derived in seeing her cool, sophisticated facade melt instantly away- to be replaced by the spoiled child who resided beneath it. Still, he had caused a regrettable scene, and if she was not lady enough to mend matters, then it must be up to him to demonstrate his own superior manners. The silly chit probably wouldn’t even realise what he was about. 

Sir Robert, Miss Upworth-Gench would doubtless have been surprised to learn, was generally considered by his wide acquaintance as a very good sort of fellow. He had acquitted himself well in battle and in a ballroom showed a good deal of breeding that was well flanked by his good manners. Not one person who had met him could say much against him, certainly none of them had ever looked at him as though he were a contemptible wretch.

A feeling, not unlike a persistent itch, rose in him and he felt an overpowering urge to annoy this sullen young woman as much as he could. He did not evaluate why such an ungentlemanly desire had come upon him, certainly he had never wished to anger a gently bred young woman before but the idea, once having been planted in his brain simply would not go away and he shot her a taunting smirk, out of eye shot of her father. 

Outraged fury poured off her but she held her dignity this time and curtseyed stiffly to him, staring blankly at his cravat before quitting the room. He felt oddly disappointed by this and resolved, the next time he called at Upworth- to see his friend obviously- to prod her temper again. 

Sir Robert did so miss the field of battle after all, and such sport may well alleviate the boredom that had plagued him since his active service had ended. There were few things so dull in all the world, as the life of a landed gentleman. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Further insult was added to Mariah's sense of injury a week following the unpleasantness between her and her Uncle’s friend. Her cousin, Miss Bonnie Prestwick, in her first season at only seventeen years of age, had successfully kept, and held,  the attention of the Earl of Granville. According to her Aunt’s account, her cousin was so delightfully reluctant to become a Countess that his Lordship fell quite head over heels in love with her and proposed. Mariah was of the opinion that love was a vulgarity that  _ true _ ladies of rank did not indulge in, it was almost improper really, that her Aunt wrote such words.    
  
Mariah felt almost wild when her Mama had read that letter. It ought to be  _ her _ , receiving such delighted attention. Had she not always been agreeable and a dutiful daughter? She had done nothing whatever to deserve the dreadful situation that she now found herself in. Instead of outwardly sulking, however, she nodded cooly in agreement with Mama’s murmured hope that dearest Bonnie would be very happy and changed the subject as swiftly as possible.   
  
In truth, she could not really say what she  _ really _ thought, which was that she sincerely hoped that Bonnie’s affianced husband swiftly came to the realisation that his fiance was  _ dreadfully _ misnamed. Mariah rose and walking gracefully to the window, announced her intention of riding out.    
  
Mama’s attention was on her letter and she absently nodded, “That is splendid, Mariah--do be sure to take a groom with you.”   
  
For the first time, this gentle reminder irritated Miss Upworth-Gench. Had she not  _ always _ taken a groom with her? Did she not  _ fully _ comprehend what was owed to her position? Mama could  _ surely _ not think that she would forget it.    
  
Irritation grew to anger as her maid helped her into her riding habit. A careful glance at the mirror revealed a neatly attired beauty with not a single hair in disorder. It was a delightful thing, she thought, to have thick curling hair-- Bonnie could not boast such, not with her reddish blonde mop that somehow made it blatantly obvious that she was plagued with freckles. A countess?  _ She _ ? It was laughable really.    
  
Bonnie did not even have an ounce of decorum, she was not given the same careful upbringing as the Upworth-Gench children, Mariah doubted that Bonnie had ever been followed at a respectful distance by a servant at  _ all _ until she went to London.    
  
She stepped out into the yard and saw Holburn holding her horse and his. She mounted using the block and carefully arranged her skirts about her. Mariah knew full well that she looked quite splendid seated atop a horse. It was not vanity that made her say so, she was not in the least bit vain-- merely she was of an honest frame of mind, and if she  _ was _ a beautiful girl, well it would be dishonest to deny or attempt to diminish it. People had such ridiculous expectations, to think that she ought to apologise for being ill favoured when she was no such thing, merely to appear  _ modest _ .   
  
Feeling quite furious with the entire world, Mariah did what she had never done before in her life.    
  
“I shan’t need you, Holburn, you may take yourself back to the stable. I will return soon.” With that, she touched the flank of her horse with her whip and rode off, not troubling herself to address the reproachful surprise of the groom.

Her small rebellion put a smirk of triumph on her face as she directed her mare along toward the river. There was a large and wide meadow the other side of the bridge that she longed to gallop through with abandon. She was entirely fed up with leading her life at a sedate canter or a restrained trot. She wanted to feel the thrill of directing the pace and direction of her own horse if only for an hour.    
  


Sometime later, Mariah reentered the courtyard looking far less dignified than she had left it. Her hat had come off, very soon after she had first whipped her horse up to speed and a little later, the neat arrangement of her hair had come loose too. Her dark curls spilt down her back in wild disorder but she did not care. There was a bloom in her cheek and a sparkle in her eye. She had  _ enjoyed _ herself that afternoon and at that moment she did not care what consequences there were to face because of it.    
  
Mariah stopped short at the sight of the other occupant in the courtyard. He was standing idly against the wall watching her with an unpleasant smile hovering about his mouth. She would have swept past him, chin high in the air, in an attempt to demonstrate his lack of consequence but alas, Sir Robert, still grinning like a commoner, handed her hat to her and her surprise was such that she took it without thought.

“I was taking my morning ride, Miss Upworth-Gench, when I spotted a young Amazon attempting to wind her horse in the great meadow. I was  _ unfortunately _ too far away to bring it to you sooner, but I saw your hat come off--on  _ such _ a windless day too-- and rather thought you might be missing it.”   
  
Mariah smoothed the dark blue plume and straightened the veil. She did not at all care for the note of mockery in his horrid, rasping voice, odious man! Her anger, which had abated on her ride, returned with force and she squared her shoulders to face him. His awful words at that dreadful dinner had not left her mind for long since he had uttered them. She had an untameable desire to take this smiling, snide enemy of hers down a peg or two. He was  _ wrong _ about her, she would prove that he was wrong.   
  
“I wonder, Sir Robert, why it is that you think it so dreadful and  _ unfeminine _ for me to not grieve for a man I did not know. There is a dreadful hypocrisy in you, sir, to demand evidence of tender regard when there is none,  _ you _ are the false one sir--to expect me to mourn and pretend.” Warming to her subject and taking advantage of his surprised silence, she continued, “You were  _ wrong _ to call me heartless...I have enough love in me to have always obeyed my parents, to have accepted an odiously restricted way of life, simply because I did not wish to make them unhappy. So think on that, Sir Robert, the next time you accuse a young woman of being cold.” With that, she turned her back on him and ducked through the doorway to the house, flushed with her triumph.    
  
Not that she needed to defend her character to such an ill-bred man as he, obviously. She was sure that she did not care a  _ jot _ what opinion he might hold of her.


	4. Chapter 4

 

He watched her, as she stalked away from him, her chin held high and shoulders well back. She looked, for all the world, like a displeased queen leaving the court. Never mind that her habit was splattered with mud, nor that her hair-- very pretty hair--was spilling about her shoulders.   
  
Her pride irked him, even as he begrudgingly admired the cool, clipped way in which she delivered him a very fine trimming. He had thought her a spoiled, self-indulgent chit, with all the warmth of an icehouse.   
  
He had been mostly correct but quite wrong, it seemed, about her coldness. He had watched her, as she vented her displeasure at him and although her manner was composed and regal, her eyes burned at him, with all the passionate fury of a jungle cat.   
  
Sir Robert pursed his lips, deep in thought as he remounted his horse and rode back to Auldbury Abbey. She needed a good lesson, that girl. If there was any female that would be vastly improved through a little humbling, it was her. There was something indefinable that had jerked in his chest when she had glowered at him. He wondered if it was the first honest glimpse of her character that anyone had had in a long time. Perhaps she did not even realise that her dignified, placid superiority was an ill-fitting facade and that within that lovely frame, there resided something a little more interesting. He wondered if, once released, her true nature--both the good and bad of it--would refuse to slink back into the beautiful cage it had been set free from.   
  
He mused on this subject, for much of the evening and before retiring for the night, had come up with a dastardly plot to rile her temper once again. What she needed was sufficient provocation that she would rip up at him regardless of the company. He would ride over in the morning and set the wheels of his plan in motion.

Sir Bartholomew Upworth-Gench was a trifle surprised when Sir Robert presented himself the next morning to him and asked, quite calmly and rationally for the hand of his daughter. He offered his guest a drink to buy himself some thinking time. The Hardwicke family was not of the peerage, of course, but then that wasn’t everything, was it? A pretty estate was Auldbury and to his certain knowledge was worth at least twenty thousand a year--never mind that he was fairly sure that the Hardwicke’s had some considerable holdings in Cornwall. It was a tempting offer, little denying it. 

  
“I confess Sir Robert, you have rather surprised me. I had not anticipated such a request from you, particularly after that first...well we shall let that go by the by. You realised Mariah was betrothed before--yes? Well then….hmm…” he took a sip of his drink and thought.   
  
Smirking a little in anticipation, Sir Robert suggested that he may wish to seek his daughter’s opinion on the matter and that he was quite willing to wait elsewhere while he did so.   
  
“Eh? No no, no need for that. She is a good girl. Does as she’s told and is grateful for her Papa’s consideration of her future. Women don’t need to be _consulted_ on things, Hardwicke! They must be directed properly.”   
  
A good deal dismayed, Sir Robert’s eyebrows shot up. He had rather counted on Sir Bartholomew seeking out Mariah's opinion first. Thinking that they would then be treated to a spectacular outburst of bilious hatred toward him, thus permitting _him_ to walk away unattached and _her_ , hopefully, a little less haughty.  He wondered if he had miscalculated.

“Very well, Hardwicke,” said Sir Bartholomew at last, “I accept. She comes with a dowry of some forty thousand pounds, it is chiefly invested in the funds and one or two other, smaller investments. I suppose the Abbey is well enough able to support a wife, sir?”  
  
His mouth dry, Sir Robert nodded. It seemed that _he_ would be the one to walk away humbled.   
  
“Very good then, I shall lay out my terms and my secretary will get it all sorted out with the attorneys as soon as may be. No point waiting around, she isn’t getting any younger and shes already had one engagement to her name...err...you enjoy good health, I trust?”   
  
He rode home later, a chastened man. How had he not seen that Miss Upworth-Gench’s father was such an overbearing fellow? Poor girl. Apparently, she had been telling the truth when she had declared that she did not know the man to whom she had been betrothed...he had suspected her of exaggerating, of trying to justify her callous nature.   
  
And now he had gone and gotten himself engaged to the girl when he did not intend to. He had bluffed and lost. The poor chit. She was probably stood in her Papa’s office even now being informed of her fate and hating him for the cur he was.   
  
Robert rather thought he might deserve her ire. How was he to wriggle out of this situation? He could hardly tell Sir Bartholomew that he had been jesting, even the Colonel, an easy-going fellow--the best of men-- would call him out for such a slight. His best hope would be that she would do something unexpectedly courageous and free them both--but it hardly seemed fair to expect that of her, give that he had been the one to get them into this mess. He doubted that he would understand that he had gambled with both of their futures merely with the intention of making her angry.   
  
It really had been ungentlemanly of him. Since when had he treated a lady so, any lady? Did she deserve his contempt? Perhaps, but she assuredly did not deserve the baiting he had set out for her.   
  
Poor Mariah.   
  
What if there was no way out of it all and he ended up having to marry the haughty girl? _Dreadful_ thought! Yes, certainly she was very pretty and it was quite entertaining to watch her eyes blazing hatred at him but he didn’t especially want her. He had vaguely thought he’d marry a nice little docile blonde girl in the misty future...not the icy mannered niece of his old friend.   


It was a scrape, it was _indubitably_ a scrape.


End file.
